


Something Just Like This

by jagnikjen



Series: The Chronicles of Blake Moran [9]
Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Blake has a hot hockey boyfriend, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hockey, M/M, Washington Capitals, playoff loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: Blake’s here to make Oliver feel better and now he’s gone and let all his insecurities hang out.





	Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

> In the 2014-2015 season, the Caps lost to the NY Rangers in seven games. The last game was played in Washington on Wednesday, May 13, 2015.

Blake shifts and turns in the over-sized recliner. Blake has no idea when Oliver will be home. He doesn’t even know if he should be here. The Caps lost to the Rangers in double overtime of game seven of the second round of the playoffs. The series had been a nail-biter from the beginning, and to go to game seven… The loss has to be a crushing blow.

Maybe Oliver wants to just mourn in private. Maybe he wants to drink himself stupid. Maybe he doesn’t want Blake in his space.

Last year, the Caps hadn’t even made it to the finals and they’d known far enough in advance that the team, as a whole, was bummed, but not devastated. Once over the suckiness of it all, Oliver had chosen to look at the silver lining—a longer off season to have a lot of sex with Blake.

They’d been eliminated in the second round the year before that too, but Blake and Oliver hadn’t met yet and Oliver had already dealt with the loss by the time they met at that cooking lesson.

So here Blake is, at well past midnight, waiting for his hot hockey boyfriend to get home from losing yet another chance at the Stanley Cup and hoping he’ll be welcome.

Oliver’s keys finally sound in the lock and Blake jumps from his fetal position in the recliner.

He’s standing and wringing his hands together when Oliver rounds the doorway. He looks beaten down and small, which is something, considering he’s six-foot-two and almost as wide as a door. Blake’s heart cracks. He just can’t imagine what this feels like.

“Blake.” Oliver’s voice is rough and low in the quiet. His gear bag and duffel slide off his shoulders to the floor with uneven thuds. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, hi.” Blake waves stupidly. “I can go…”

“No, Blake.” Oliver sighs, shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just surprised to see you. It’s a Wednesday—well, a Thursday morning and your job…”

Blake’s panic eases and he crosses the room. Yeah, he has to be strict about his bedtime when he can, but his boyfriend is a professional hockey player and was playing in a crucial game. So, yeah, he watched. “I watched the game, and I’m sorry. I wanted to “be there” for you, but I don’t know what that really means for you. I figured I could leave if this was the wrong choice, but to not be here and that be the wrong choice seemed worse, so…” He shrugs.

Oliver tugs him close, buries his face in Blake’s shoulder, holds him tight. “I’m so glad you’re here. Right choice.”

Blake cinches his arms around Oliver’s waist and lets him do whatever. They stand there for a long time, until Oliver finally takes a breath and pulls away.

“Let’s go to bed. It was a shit night.”

* * *

Blake wakes alone in Oliver’s big bed. His side of the bedding is cool to the touch, and Blake wonders how long Oliver’s been up. He lifts his cell from the nightstand and wrinkles his nose. It’d been after one by the time Oliver had gotten home and they’d climbed the stairs to bed. It’s barely after six. The scent of the deep roast coffee Oliver likes filters into his nose. He pushes out of bed and grabs one of Oliver’s Caps tee shirts and tugs it on. It’s two sizes too large for Blake, but it’s soft and wash-worn and smells like Oliver.

The house is light enough to navigate even though the sun hasn’t crested the house behind Oliver’s. Blake follows the smell of coffee.

Oliver’s in the kitchen, hunched over the counter, leaning on his elbows, head hanging low.

Blake’s struck again with nerves. Oliver said his being here was the right choice, but Blake knows sometimes you need time and space even from those you love to deal with loss and heartache. Maybe he should go back upstairs, take a shower, ensure that Oliver knows he’s awake and coming down. Give him a few minutes to collect himself to face Blake.

Blake takes a step back. The floorboards creak and his heart sinks. Oliver turns his head slowly, peers at Blake over his shoulder looking sad and bleary-eyed.

“I’m sorry.” Blake takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Oliver straightens, swipes a hand over his face. “You’re not. I told you last night. Right choice. Come here.”

They meet in the middle and Oliver holds him close again in the middle of the kitchen. The coffee maker chortles and snorts as the last of the water passes out of the reservoir and into the basket of coffee grounds.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Oliver grumbles.

“I just…You’re you. A professional athlete. Smart, sweet, so so hot. God, you’re so built. I’m just an economics dweeb, in passable shape, and I have no idea what you see in me.”

And _shit_. He’s here to make Oliver feel better and now he’s gone and let all his insecurities hang out.

“I’m sorry. Ignore me,” he says, pulling away. Looking up into Oliver’s handsome face, he asks, “How about I make some breakfast? Eggs and bacon or French toast or all of the above. Whatever you want.”

Oliver sighs, rubs his hands gently up and down Blake’s arms. Looks deeply into Blake’s eyes. “Blake, listen to me. I’m not looking for some fairy tale partner who keeps the home fires burning, the house spotless, and who raises kids alone. I want someone I can miss during road trips. I want someone to text and Skype. I want someone to kiss when I come home, whether we won or we lost.

“I want someone I can turn to when we get our asses soundly beat in the playoffs. I want someone who’s going to be there when I finally lift that stupid Cup. I want something just like this. What we’re building. What we have.

“I want you, Blake. Just you. You’re kind-hearted and tender and snarky and you’re good at your job and you want to make a difference. And I love that about you so much. Me?” He shrugs. “I’m just a dumb jock—”

Blake opens his mouth to protest, because Oliver is a smart guy--has a degree in math even, that he earned in the off seasons before he’d met Blake--but a large callused finger stays his words. 

Oliver arches an eyebrow. “A figure of speech, yes?”

Blake nods, half shrugs.

“I play a sport I love for an insane amount of money in order to entertain people. People need that. I get it. But what you do, what you help do, that’s something, Blake, and I couldn’t do what I do, America wouldn’t be what it is without people like you and the Secretary doing what you do.

“Is there room for improvement? Of course there is. But you’re not going to ask me to quit hockey and I’m not going to ask you to quit the State Department, so we’re going to make it work. Make the best of it. And I’m going to come home to you or you’re going to come home to me and we’re going to live our lives together as best we can.

“So.” He takes a breath, presses a kiss to Blake’s forehead. “Please stop thinking you don’t deserve me. I’m just a man. Okay?”

“Dammit,” Blake whispers and wipes the tears off his face. “Okay, okay. I get it.

“I don’t want something _like_ this though…I just want this.”


End file.
